


Two little girls

by melissima



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 20:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissima/pseuds/melissima
Summary: A bawdy house is no place for a little girl, but two little girls might just find their way, together.





	Two little girls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reconditarmonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reconditarmonia/gifts).



The house was more beautiful than any Maggie had ever seen, with rugs and furniture fit for princesses. She stood inside the door, holding her breath for fear she might wake up. She heard her mother's grinding cough, mingled with a stranger's musical voice. There was a man in dark clothes eying her from the corner. A gold chain sprouted from his pocket, gleaming to make her fingers itch. That chain led to a watch that would feed her and her ma for a month, if she could keep the money hidden for that long.  
The seconds stretched as Maggie stared at her hands. Her belly complained noisily. The watch ticked into the uneasy silence, until she thought she would have to start singing to keep still.  
A tiny breath of air shifted, off to her left. She glanced over at a flash of dark skirts at the same moment her mother emerged from behind closed doors with a woman who looked more like a sherbet lemon than a person, stays and skirts and wig in matching shades of pale sunshine. She sailed right up to Maggie and petted her wild curls. She usually slapped the hands of anyone who dared. The sherbet lemon lady leaned close and cooed, “what a beauty you are! Would you like to wear pretty dresses and ribbons in your hair?”  
She nodded, mesmerized.  
“Nancy!” the lady sang, turning away.  
A door snicked shut, breaking the spell. Maggie suddenly remembered to look for her ma.  
“Ma ? Ma where are ya? Ma !” a chill stiffened her limbs and stopped her voice.  
“Nancy!” bellowed the lemon sherbet lady.  
The sudden change in the lady's mood settled into her bones with the knowledge that she wouldn't see her ma again. It made her lock her knees against crumbling. A mop of wild black hair in dark skirts appeared in the shadowy hallway and jerked her sharp chin at Maggie.  
The lady gave her a dainty little push. “Go have a nice soak, and a rest, darling. We'll have a lovely party this evening!”  
Nancy led her into a bedroom where a little wooden tub waited. A key scraped in the lock. The sound, so final, rooted Maggie in place, struggling to breathe calmly in the small, unfamiliar space.  
“The water ain't warm,” whispered Nancy, as she pointed out soap and a thin towel on a nearby shelf “but you’re the first one in it. After today, the grown ones go before us. So you'll want to stay clean. The culls like that. If they like you, Quigley’ll love you. If she loves you, you get the best food, the best clothes, the best culls. You want that. The good culls’ll take what they want and maybe give you a sweet for your trouble.”  
Maggie thought she half knew what that meant. She shuddered. “And the bad ones?”  
“Keep clean and smile pretty, and we'll hope you never know,” Nancy gestured at her clothes, and Maggie stepped out of them quickly, climbed into the tub. A silent moment passed, until she heard a low snicker.  
It stung her, naked and shivering before a stranger. “Do a lot of smilin’ pretty, do ya?”she snapped, “only, how do the culls see it, under all that hair?”  
To her surprise, the snicker grew. “about as often as you wash, I expect. What have you been doing, making mudpies for supper?”  
Maggie dissolved in giggles, too. Not because it was a good joke, but because it was a joke between two little girls who found themselves alone together.  
After her bath, Nancy brought her a beautiful green dress and a golden ribbon for her hair. She let herself be dressed and primped and led into the parlor full of smelly, sweating men and simpering girls. The sherbet lady—Mrs. Quigley— pulled her from one knot of men to the next, introducing her “darling Maggie” and pausing to whisper something that made them all laugh and pat Maggie's hands or chuck her chin. Nancy disappeared somewhere between the introductions and didn't reappear until much later, when she crept out of the shadows as Maggie reached the top of the staircase.

And so it went, for a fortnight. Nancy taught her the rules and rhythms of Golden square, helped her learn to flirt and to walk in the beautiful yellow pumps. Mrs. Quigley gave them to her, after she sang for the culls and one of them passed her a shilling for praise.  
She watched the older girls lead the culls to the bedrooms, learned to guess which cull was deemed the most choice, which were to be avoided (but not why, not yet.)  
Many delighted whispers were exchanged as she told her first bawdy story, a yarn of her Ma's about a Milkmaid’s ruin, complete with rivulets of spilled milk streaming over her naked skin. For some reason, the older girls were cross with her, but Mrs. Quigley beamed. That night as they mounted the staircase, Mrs. Quigley whispered to her, “My dear girl, I do believe you're ready!“  
She wanted to refuse, wanted to run away. But she thought of her Ma flirting with one barkeep or beer sodden tradesman after another, always scheming to get herself married. The last one, a blacksmith named Joe Jones, had truly loved her. But he died of a wasting cough before he had payed off the note on his forge, and so left her ma with his cough and his debts. She supposed Golden square was better than the fleabitten back rooms of inns with nothing but damp straw for a bed and plate scrapings for supper. She decided that if pleasing the culls kept her in dresses and a place at Mrs. Quigley’s table, that would do until she had a house of her own. 

The winning bid for her maidenhood pleased Mrs. Quigley even more than her singing. She sailed into the bedroom one afternoon in high color, speaking too loudly and standing too close. “It's been settled, my darling Maggie shall ride with a marquess tomorrow! Oh you've done well, my dear, You'll see.”  
Nancy stiffened beside her.  
The smile left Quigley’s face as she turned on her, making Maggie want to push the slighter girl behind her.  
“And *you'll* have to give up skulking and scowling unless you want to try the gutter, little Nancy,” she sang, her expression as venomous as her voice was sweet. “Maggie’s coming out day is yours, too. See that you do well, or see that you're gone before morning.”  
So it was to be their last night as little girls, then. Maggie tried to be as brave and cavalier as the older girls were, tried to make Nancy laugh at the idea of lumbering culls fumbling at their laces. She pushed Nancy's dark hair back off her face and stared into her beetle-green eyes, reading the fear and revulsion there.  
Nancy dove sparrow swift to catch a kiss from Maggie’s lips, startling her into laughter.  
She made to slink away, but Maggie caught her shoulder and pulled her close again, kissed her soundly. “If you won't smile pretty, at least don't get tossed out. I can separate enough culls from their coin to win us free, if you give me a minute.”  
Nancy nodded, her eyes on her Brogans.  
Maggie kissed her again, “now help me rescue my poor hair from these pins.”  
Nancy combed the thick curls, warming her fingers and teasing the snarls smooth. Maggie relaxed a little, then more, and finally climbed into the bed with a sleepy grin.  
*  
Nancy stayed perched on the edge of the bed, fingers still lightly stroking the copper curls fanned out across the pillow, until Maggie mumbled sleepy annoyance and lifted the sheets. Nancy slipped between them gingerly, arranged herself along the mattress edge. Huffed a chuckle into the pillow as Maggie snuggled un self-consciously against her. Sleep came hard, as always, but she was warm and safe for once. It was enough.


End file.
